


Mistletoe

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, Weasleycest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The twins take mistletoe a tad too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Harry laughs, “Haha, very funny, guys,” as he walks through the Burrow’s doorway, arms overflowing with presents. The twins pull back from pecking him on either cheek and give him some space to kick off his shoes. But they follow him down the hallway, and at the door to the kitchen, kiss him again; this time messier and longer. Harry splutters and tries to jerk away from them, which is difficult with one twin on either side. “Hey, cut it out!”

“Mistletoe,” George points out, jabbing a finger at the ceiling. Harry glances upwards before rolling his eyes and brushes past them. He drops his armful of presents atop the kitchen counter and begins stripping off his jacket. He’s early, here to help set up. Apparently Arthur and Molly have gone out for last minute groceries, Ron is off meeting Hermione, and Ginny is off doing ‘woman things.’ Bill has his hands full with Fleur, and who knows if Percy’s coming. Charlie’s a mystery, and Harry drapes his jacket over the counter, immensely glad the heating charms are up. His t-shirt’s a bit too big for him and a bit too thin and worn—a leftover convention from childhood.

George and Fred follow him into the living room. As he passes the couch, Fred shouts, “Mistletoe!” and spins Harry around for a (third) kiss. This time, both twins come so close they bump cheeks, sloppily pecking at either side of Harry’s mouth. Harry opens it to tell them off, and suddenly George is right in front of him, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth. George pushes Harry backwards, and Harry stumbles onto the couch, George going with him and straddling his lap. Fred’s quickly at his side, running long fingers up and under Harry’s t-shirt. George fervently devours him, flattening him into the back of the couch, and Harry’s too surprised and fuzzy-headed already to stop it. Fred starts sucking and nipping his neck, leaving little bites and rubbing at his stomach. George’s hands join Fred, and together they push up Harry’s shirt, smoothing greedily over his skin. Harry gasps for air when George finally parts their lips.

“What the f—”

Fred cuts him off with a languid kiss, equally as deep and probing. Harry’s eyes close. George whispers, “Mistletoe,” in his ears, and points at the ceiling. Harry’s eyes open, and he glances up at the ceiling, where a rat’s nest of green plants and red berries is hanging, probably a third of a meter wide. 

Fred pulls back to purr, “That means lots of kisses,” and sensually lick up the side of Harry’s face.

Harry splutters, cheeks turning red, and tries to jerk away. He didn’t think it was possible to be licked sensually, but they’re managing it. They’re both back to kissing him passionately a second later, attacking his skin from either side, and Harry can feel George’s crotch sidling up to grind against him. And Harry’s is tenting just as much. Fred is rutting against Harry’s side, and Harry can both smell and feel their immediate arousal.

But they’re on the couch, in the middle of the Burrow. Neither twin seems to mind, and Harry throws his head back to gasp, “You guys...”

“’Not our fault; it’s tradition,” Fred mumbles at his ear, laving it with a skilled tongue and splaying talented fingers, traitorously close to the hem of his trousers.

George has a hand on his belt and purrs, “Not our fault you look so cute...”

“Like you want us on you.”

“Or maybe in you.”

“We’ve wanted you for so long, Harry.”

“We know you want us, too.”

“Seen the way you look at us.”

“See the way you wonder.”

“Want to touch us, Harry?”

“We’re going to touch you, all over...”

Harry moans. He can’t tell who’s saying what anymore, only that someone is undoing his belt, and someone is slipping a hand beneath his pants. That completely isn’t necessary for mistletoe, unless one of them plans on kissing his cock, which Harry isn’t at all going to complain about at this point. Fred is undoing his zipper as George squeezes him through his pants, and they mutter in unison, “You’re so big, Harry, we’re impressed.” Harry feels a jolt of mixed embarrassment and pride. The warmth on either side of him is completely overwhelming.

Then footsteps sound in the background, and Harry’s senses come rolling back to him. He tries to push them both away, but they have more limbs than he does and keep him still. They overpower him and kiss him, and touch him, and pull out his cock and fist him. Both sets of hands are on him, both bulges are rubbing against his thighs, and Harry arches into their touch wantonly and moans.

Charlie strolls into the edge of Harry’s vision, right over to the couch across from them, and plops casually down. He spreads his legs, opens his firewhisky, and downs a rather large sip. Harry’s eyes are wide, his glasses a little fogged, and he opens his mouth to apologize.

“Don’t worry about him,” George hisses, giving Harry’s cock a squeeze, effectively stopping any complaints.

“He just likes to watch,” Fred purrs, cupping Harry’s stones.

Then George breaks away from Harry long enough to turn to Fred, and they kiss wetly before him, messily and open-mouthed, and Harry’s eyes go impossibly wider. They’re identical in every way, down to the last freckle, and their fiery bangs mess against each other as they tilt their heads, opening and closing their mouths, tasting and touching.

When they break it, Fred licks the side of George’s jaw, and George moans. George keeps pumping Harry the whole time, and Fred turns to kiss Harry on the lips, hard and powerful. They both taste spicy and vaguely like alcohol. They taste the same, and feel the same, and Harry’s getting harder every second.

“Charlie used to walk in on us when we were boys,” George tells Harry, right next to his ear.

Fred parts their lips enough to mumble, “He showed us what to do with our cocks, and how to please each other.”

George smiles fondly and coos, “He taught us how to sixty-nine—would you like to see that sometime, Harry? Or join in, perhaps?”

“We can put on quite the show,” Fred insists, with a throaty rasp. “We know all the tricks. Or perhaps you want to be in the middle?”

“We could tag-team you,” George licks his ear.

“Or we could fuck you at the same time,” Fred bites his neck.

“One in your ass, one in your mouth.”

“Or both in your ass, or both in front of your mouth...”

“Do you want to fuck Fred with me?” George chuckles darkly.

Fred shoves him lightly and purrs, “No, help me tie George up—he likes when we play rough.”

Harry’s only half-hearing them. He’s so overrun and off-guard. Their mouths know just what they’re doing, and their hands are just as good. They’re squeezing his thighs, and rolling his balls, and stroking his cock, and playing with his nipples. All the while, he’s staring at Charlie, who isn’t saying a word, just leisurely watching them and sipping at his firewhisky. When Charlie spreads his legs a little wider, Harry gets a good look at the sizeable bulge there before Charlie starts to palm it through his trousers.

Harry’s almost there when Charlie barks, “Fred! Get your skinny ass over here!”

Fred glances over his shoulder and calls, “You don’t have any mistletoe.”

George laughs to Fred, “You’re in trouble.”

They look at each other wickedly and abruptly crawl off Harry’s lap. Harry instantly whines at the loss, but both twins just slide down his body, kneeling on the floor. Charlie stands up, but Fred and George are already leaning forward, and, at the same time, press their pink tongues to the base of Harry’s cock. They slowly draw them up Harry’s shaft, all the way to the tip, pressing hard, and Harry’s balls tighten against their chins. Another lick, then another, a bit of suckling at the side, and he comes shamefully fast, inexperienced and shocked, shooting up into the air, and it lands all across their faces. He doesn’t stop, and Harry’s too dizzy to be sorry, and it sticks to Fred’s cheeks and drips over the base of George’s nose. When Harry’s cock twitches to an end, hanging limply against their faces, Fred and George shift to bring their lips together around it. They make out with Harry against the sides of their lips, swapping globs of his cum and just generally being the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen.

“You’re mine,” George hisses, looking Fred in the eyes, just as Charlie pulls Fred away by the scruff of his neck.


End file.
